Deadworld (28 page)

“And you’d prefer to wait until after you’re dead?” She leaned forward, fingers digging in until her face was only a few inches from his. It really did look like death back in the depths of those eyes. “I don’t want your soul, Mr. Anderson.”

Nick stood up, knocking the piano bench over to the floor with a loud clatter against the wooden floor, his hands hooked under Jackie’s arms. He pushed her back until she was arched against the front of the piano. “You don’t know what you want, Jackie, and I have nothing left to give you.”

She sucked in her breath at the quickness with which he had responded, a tingling wash of heat coursing through her at the feeling of being pressed between him and the piano. It was not exactly comfortable, but Jackie didn’t notice. He stood over her, staring down at her half-opened mouth, holding her gaze, and Jackie knew his words were only that—just words.
You say it, and you don’t want to believe, Nick Anderson. You’re just as desperately lonely as I am.
“I know what I want at this very moment. Question is, will you give it to me?”

He leaned farther, pressing his torso against hers. Jackie responded by wrapping her legs around his waist and got rewarded with the feeling of him swelling up against her. Nick’s hands gripped the edge of the piano on either side of her, and his mouth hovered perilously and deliciously close to her own. “Jackie . . .”

God! Do you have to be so fucking chivalrous! Just fuck me!
Jackie brought her head up and found his mouth. She could feel every little bump and curve of his lips, nibbling them, licking the crease until after a moment he responded, opening to her and letting her tongue swim with his, tasting of wine, sweet and woody. After a few seconds he pulled away, leaving Jackie licking her lips, wanting to taste more.

“Nick, don’t stop. Please. I want that mouth all over me.”

“No,” he said, closing his eyes and pushing back upright. “Damnit, Jackie. I want to, but no, not like this. Not under the influence of the other side.”

No, no, no! You bastard. You can’t bail now.
“I don’t care, damnit.” She reached for his neck, to pull him back down, but he grabbed her hands in his.

“I do. It’d be like taking advantage of a drunken woman. Come on, a cold shower actually helps the effect go away.” He pulled her to her feet and led Jackie to the stairs.

Jackie didn’t complain, thinking perhaps she could coax him into the shower with her, but he removed no clothing, only pointing out the bathrobe hanging on the hook behind the door.

“It’s Shelby’s. She won’t mind. Cold water, Jackie. Cold as you can stand it. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Jackie yelled at the first contact, but the pulsing contact from the jets of water did indeed begin to cool her down right away. Gradually, her head floated back to its rightful place on her shoulders, and her will ventured back to take up shop once again. Only then did Jackie feel the mortification of what she had done. What the hell would she say to him now? She had truly wanted him though, sort of. Some part of her had, at least, and Shelby had unleashed it.
How am I going to live this down? Maybe I can just sneak out and walk back to town. I really wanted him. Fuck, what is my problem? I’m going to have to thank him for saying no.

It struck Jackie then, beginning to shiver under the cold spray of the shower, that Nick Anderson was the first guy that she could remember who had refused to take advantage of the situation offered to him.

Chapter 43

“Will you give it to me?” The words kept echoing around inside Nick’s head. He listened to Jackie finish her shower and then lock herself in the bedroom. Tough not to blame her for that one. Embarrassment was never fun, but he was thankful nonetheless. Nick did not know what he would say to her. Part of him had known what was going on. The symptoms had all been there, but he realized now, after a couple beers and two hours of mindless channel surfing, that he had wanted her. When she had finally irked him enough to push her up against the piano, his body had responded in a way he had not felt in a long time.

He had attempted to call Shelby to give her the piece of mind she deserved for pulling that off on Jackie without mentioning it to him, but she had not answered. It was getting late enough now that it worried him. She should have checked in at least an hour earlier. Gamble had nothing new to pass along. They were all out hunting for Drake. Shelby had been heard from, just not by him. He needed to be out there looking. Somewhere a little girl’s life was in grave danger.

Nick wrapped his hand around the beer bottle and felt the phantom, firm nipple of Jackie’s breast pressing through the cotton fabric against his palm. Her skin had been so warm. The desire to knead his fingers into it had been nearly overwhelming. Such a slightly built woman, and she had certainly shown her ability to use it for violence, but her desperate voice had sent his mind in an entirely different direction, wanting to know how that body would work under more desirable circumstances. Nick clicked off the television and headed up to the loft. He needed something to soothe his fraying nerves.

He had made it a whole thirty seconds into a Beethoven piano concerto when the phone rang. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it was coming from the hospital. “Hello?”

Cynthia’s voice, groggy and hoarse, whispered in his ear. “Nick?”

“Cyn?” Relief washed through him. “How you doing? It’s late, girl. You could have waited until morning.”

“Just woke up. I think they pumped a pharmacy into my veins.”

“Yeah, you weren’t too aware when I saw you earlier.”

“Worst migraine of all time,” she said and laughed softly. “I thought my head was going to explode.”

“Stayed too long on the other side, didn’t you? What were you doing poking around in Deadworld, Cyn? This is not a safe time to be doing that.” He knew he sounded like a dad scolding a daughter for staying out too late with undesirable friends, but in a way it was how he felt. Losing Cynthia would have been like losing another daughter.

“I know, but I wanted to tell you I found them, Nick. At least, I think so. It’s so hard to tell because I can’t really see over there. I just hear things.”

“I know that, but found who?”

“Some of Drake’s victims,” she said. “They’re trapped, I think.”

Nick paused, trying to collect himself.
“Some” means more than one, perhaps many.
“Trapped how? I don’t understand.”

“Sec,” she said, and Nick heard a soda can popping open and a mumbled conversation with a hospital staff person. “I don’t either. I think they were inside some . . . place. This big old brute of a guy named Jeffrey was guarding it and took offense at my nosing around.

“Jeffrey?”

“I don’t know. The guy was not the brightest. Kept referring to himself in third person. ‘Jeffrey not let anyone in. Jeffrey gonna smash your face.’ That sort of thing. I tried talking to him, but it was like talking to a brick.”

The name rang a bell for Nick. Jeffrey was someone from Drake’s past. He had run into Jeffrey back in ’32, but the dimwitted thug had been alive then. “Anything else before I come over and smack you for not staying away like I asked you?”

“Promise?”

“Promise to smack you?”
Question is, will I give it to you.
“No. Not funny.”

Cynthia sighed. “Fine. Can’t give a hospitalized girl a break, can you?”

“Cyn . . . sorry. It’s been a very long, frustrating day.”

“I’m sorry, too, Nick. Anyway, I got around this nitwit and found a bunch of spirits, those I’d normally think of as lost souls, the ones waiting for something to happen here before they move on, and Drake was with them.”

“What?”
Drake has access to his victims after he has already killed them? Dear God.

“Yeah. At least, I am almost positive that’s who it was. English accent, charming voice, and very powerful. I knew the second I heard him I was in trouble so I began pulling out as fast as I could. Reggie showed up though and ran interference long enough for me to get back, but I guess that Jeffrey guy was able to follow me through.”

They could all be there, tormented by Drake all this time, waiting for me to arrive and save the day.
Nick’s hand clenched tightly around the phone. “He can walk among both worlds. Christ.”

“Nick . . .” Her voice faded for a moment, and Nick thought she might have fallen asleep, but there was a cough as she cleared her throat before continuing. “If you need any . . . um . . . you know, blood to do this, I—”

“No!” He winced at the tone of his voice. “Sorry, Cyn. I didn’t mean to yell. I won’t take your blood, no matter what the reason, but thank you.”

“Okay. Just thought I’d offer. You know, just in case. Nobody should be allowed to walk among the dead, Nick. It’s not right.”

“I know. I hope I can stop him.”

“Is everything all right back at my house? That idiot was throwing shit all over the place.”

Nick swallowed hard. “There was a fire, Cyn. I think it gutted your living room. A lot of smoke damage, I think, but the outside looked pretty intact.”

Her voice quavered, on the brink of tears. “Did it look fixable?”

“I think so. It’s covered regardless, so don’t worry about that now. You can stay out at the ranch until it gets situated if you need to.”

Her voice cracked. Nick could tell she was crying now. That was far easier said when it wasn’t your house that had burned. “Thanks, Nick. I can probably stay out at Mom’s. I’ll ask her tomorrow. I’m going to go cry for a while now. You going to be okay over there?”

“For now.”
Other than the horny, mortified woman in my spare room.
I’ll try to call in the morning and see how you’re doing. If we get a break at all, I’ll come by and see you.”

“Okay.” Cyn sniffed and clicked off.

For a moment, he thought the evening could not end on a lower note, but then a short, sharp scream came from down the hall.

Chapter 44

Pale and fanged, black cape swirling about his shoulders like a mist of raven’s feathers, Nick had begun to eat at Jackie. Beginning with her toes, he had taken them delicately into his mouth, breaking off each one like a little piece of hard candy. Then, with snakelike effectiveness, he gulped down each leg just short of the point where she really wanted those fangs to bite.

“Eat me, Nick. Oh, yes, eat me.” She repeated the absurd refrain over and over while he meticulously devoured her, until on the brink of that sweet bite, he stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. Jackie felt a wave of bone-piercing cold wash through her, and Nick’s smiling face froze and shattered into a million tiny pieces.

“Jackie.”

Laurel stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes ablaze with an icy fire. Jackie screamed, trying to scramble away, but, of course, her legs were gone, and she could go nowhere. She glared down at the legless bare body and shook her head.

“Jackie.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackie said, wiping at the tears streaming down her face. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. Please, Laur, forgive me.”

“Jackie!”

She awoke finally, sitting bolt upright in the bed, the frightened scream dying as quickly as it had come out. The bedside lamp was still on. She had fallen asleep, lying there contemplating the inevitable conversation she would have to have with Nick. At the foot of the bed, shifting in and out of existence, was the gauzy shape of Laurel’s ghost.

Jackie clutched the blanket up to her chest and swallowed the tight ball of fear back down. Her voice, despite the effort, was barely audible. “Laur.”

Laurel smiled. Then her brow furrowed in concentration, and her image nearly faded out before growing brighter again. Her voice sounded like it came from the other end of a long corridor, hollow and distant. “Hi, hon. No time . . . talk.”

They both turned as the bedroom door swung open. Nick poked his head in, and his eyes grew wide in surprise. “Well, hello, Ms. Carpenter.”

“Shut up,” Jackie said in a harsh whisper.

Nick stepped in and said nothing. Laurel turned so she could see both of them. “Drake . . . North Shore,” she said, bring her hands up to her temples. “Sorry . . . hard. Shelby on the way. Go.”

“On the way?” Nick reached into his pocket for his cell, and it began to ring before he pulled it out. “Shel? What the hell . . . Yeah, she’s here now. Okay, I’m heading up now. I’ll call in a few.”

Jackie stared in silence at Laurel. Her brain had shut off. No words came to mind. She tried to blink away the tears filling up her eyes. Laurel did not seem the raging spirit some part of her mind had envisioned when Shelby had told her she would show up again. It was just her. Laurel. Jackie’s friend. And working the case while she slept it away in some stranger’s bed.

Laurel turned back to her as Nick pocketed the phone. She smiled. “Go . . . talk later.” She stepped forward into the bed, reaching out to Jackie, and then faded out completely.

Jackie reached up to grab her hand and found nothing but an icy-cold breath of air in her grasp. She wiped at the tear that had spilled down her cheek. “Shit.”

“I know you’ll shoot me if I leave you here, so let’s go.” Nick stood at the door, standing aside as though waiting for her to go ahead.

She took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush, and swung her legs out of bed. “Give me a sec to throw clothes on.”

He nodded. “I’ll have the car out front.”

A minute later, Jackie stepped out into the cool, misty night air and found herself staring at the open door of a dark purple Porsche 911. The vampire cowboy drove a purple Porsche. She walked over to the driveway and got in, the leather bucket seat snuggling up behind her. “You drive a purple Porsche?”

“It was my wife’s favorite color,” he said.

“Why don’t you drive this thing all the time?”

He shrugged. “Don’t generally need to.”

“So when do you generally need it?”

Nick backed out onto the road and gave her what she thought might actually be a sly look. “When I want to go really fast. Buckle up, Agent Rutledge.”

She just managed to get the strap across her body when her head was forced back into the seat, and the Porsche launched down the road toward North Shore.